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Posts tagged ‘obituaries’

REBLOG: CLAYTON DIGGS’ DISTINCTIVE RAY BRADBURY OBIT

“The boy was good! Was he actually a Martian? We’ll never know.”

Ray Bradbury Dead at 91, Martians, and Sci-fi Man-juice

by claytondiggs

link: http://claytondiggs.wordpress.com/2012/06/07/ray-bradbury-dead-at-91-martians-and-sci-fi-man-juice/

You ever just sit around and think about Ray Bradbury? I did, yesterday when I heard that that great American writer had made his final journey to the Martian landscape that lies beyond the great beyond. No, that’s,not quite it… He got cornered by imaginary lions in a virtual reality who tore him into worm food…No, still not right…He morphed into a heap of books, heated toFahrenheit 451, turned to ash, and blew into little bits of cosmic dust to then descend on some Red Planet at the edge of the Universe. Yeah, that’s a little more like it. Hot damn! I’m sorry. I’m not. I really am!

I am sorry that we’ll no longer share airspace with a guy who, to my mind, was one of the most original and gorgeous voices in our American literary canon.

Old Ray was born in Waukegan, Illinois, in 1920. He grew up during that tonic for the restless imagination, the Great Depression, a time when the future seemed not only bleak and depressing as shit but, well – unimaginable. But imagine it Ray did, and with a visionary zeal that always took our collective breath away. The boy was good! Was he actually a Martian? We’ll never know.

But we do know that his stories sprang from the deep and potent well of his childhood fears. In an interview on Fresh Air he once said: “As soon as I looked up, there it was, and it was horrible,” Bradbury remembers. “And I would scream and fall back down the stairs, and my mother and father would get up and sigh and say, ‘Oh, my gosh, here we go again.’ “

Childhood was indeed an important time for the budding author. Ray read and read and read everything he could get his grubby little alien hands on. He dug on Jules Verne and H.G. Wells and dreamed of outdoing them, and so, between frenzied bouts of cranking out adolescent sci-fi man-juice (to pics of big-boobied Martian chicks no doubt), he also managed to crank out a short story a week. Lesson: the only way to (re)produce is through consistency!

Great American sci-fi writer Ray Bradbury dead at 91

When the Bradbury fam up and moved to SoCal, little Ray took to hiding out in the dank, scary basement of the UCLA library, where, for 10 cents a half-hour, he could rent a typewriter. Said Ray years later: “I thought, my gosh, this is terrific! I can be here for a couple hours a day. It’ll cost me 30, 40 cents, and I can get my work done. Also, it’s awesome to spew sci-fi man-juice in a public venue. Much more exciting than at home.”

Ray hit it big with his 1950 collection, The Martian Chronicles. Then, while that fat old cow masturbatorJoe McCarthy, was looking to anally violate anyone evenly remotely aligned with anything Red, planet or otherwise, Ray did a right ballsy thing — he shot a FUCK YOU ray-gun at censorship in general with his best known work, Fahrenheit 451, and did so in a FUCK YOU kind of way, having the story that would become his signature novel first printed in Playboy.

Have you read that fine, fine book? If not, put down whatever you’re doing, go out and get a copy, and sit the hell down. It’s about a future society in which McCarthy-like fat old cow masturbators have firefighters burn books for the purpose of keeping folks dull and ignorant. There’s never been a revolution without there first being a revolution of ideas, goes the theory. In practice, the only trouble comes when the firefighters become curious about what exactly it is they’re being made to burn. Then all hell breaks loose! Shit fire! Hot damn! Great book.

People the world over and even those in outer space loved old Ray. The crew of Apollo 15 so totally dug Bradbury’s novel Dandelion Wine that they named a lunar crater after the it. Astronaut Buzz Aldrin, the second guy on the moon, and the man forever-and-a-day frustrated by the fact that he scores way less poon than Neil Armstrong, had this say: “Ray Bradbury is one who is contributing to the understanding of the imagination and the curiosity of the human race.” Hey, it would have been better if pussy-champ Neil Armstrong had said it, but novelists can’t be choosers, right?

Amazingly, despite his visions of the future, Ray never got into using computers. He even once told The New York Times that the Internet was pointless. Well, buddy, on that point at least, we’ve gotta say: FAIL!

It’s okay – nobody’s perfect!

Old Ray finally settled down to family life right here on Earth in 1947, when he married a gal named Maggie, and the happy couple had four little Martian girls. Ray suffered a stroke at age 80 and, sadly, couldn’t write anymore. He did, however, keep having his strange visions of things to come. He felt sure we’d be landing on Mars right soon and asked that his ashes be buried on that vast and vacant red planet.

We’ll sure miss you, old buddy, old Ray, venerable imaginer of humanity’s many possible destinies. We’ll sure miss you. I raise my cup of Dandelion Wineto you, Sir. I truly do.

GET RAY’S ASHES TO MARS: A FUND

  • If you’d like to help Ray complete his dying wish, shoot me an email: me (at) claytondiggs (dot) com.
  • It’s gonna take a lot of dollar bills to make it happen, but if Ray taught us anything, it’s that every dream has got to start somewhere.

“I’m so fucking cool. How big will penises be in the future? THIIIIS BIIIIG!”

Penthouse Founder Dies at 79. An Open Letter to Bob Guccione.

link: Bob Guccione, Penthouse Founder, Dies at 79 – NYTimes.com

Dear Bob Guccione,

I was sad to learn today that you are no longer coming down for breakfast.  As publisher and founder of Penthouse magazine,  you were more degenerate than Hugh Hefner, but less oogie than Larry Flint.  You were like a 6 on a 10 point swinger- to-sleazeball scale.  But your pornographic inspirations played an important role in my nescient tween years.  Most guys will tell you that as a boy they kyped Penthouse from their dad’s drawer or from under their older brother’s bed, or somewhere.  My brother also collected the Reader’s Digest-sized Penthouse Forum, and it was the best.  In Penthouse Magazine you may have given America its first look at pubic hair, but I loved Forum and its famous letters from readers with their supposedly true sex adventures.  This periodically included tales of bisexuality.  When I say bisexual I mean my interest was in the girl-guy-guy stuff you printed.

I always found the pornographic stories more interesting than photos.  I would study Forum on my own and dog ear the pages that described sex scenes in crazy public places or had weirdo fetishism.  And when a male friend slept over I would read these choice stories aloud from the bottom bunk-bed in my room.  I always had a couple of the strangest, strictly hetero items cued up and then, socko, I’d hit ’em with a girl-guy-guy story.  This was an ingenious barometer to test the other boy’s curiosity or abject aversion without revealing any underlying motive on my behalf.  I read maybe some gross water-sports letter to warm him up and then I’d bounce a suggestive bi story off his Protestant armor.  You gave me a tool to know whether to proceed boldly or retreat back into another real adventure in underwear sniffing.  Thank you Bob Guccione for Forum and for what was the genesis of  a predatory system I built upon, perfected and still utilize to this day.  I suppose if this damaged any of my then niave and trusting boyhood friends, who today are married and straight, I ought to say I’m sorry.   But instead I’ll just say, you know who you are.

–  Richard (address withheld)

Tom Bosley,TVs Howard Cunningham, 83 -RIP

 

Bosley on Happy Days

 

Tom Bosley, best known for his tv role as Howard Cunningham on Happy Days, 1974-1984, is no longer coming down for breakfast.

Bosley was a veteran stage actor, he won a Tony award in 1959 for the musical Fiorello! He is familiar to most people from television on Happy Days, Murder She Wrote, Father Dowling Mysteries, and TV commercials and infomercials in which he mostly played Tom Bosley.  I recall for a time people also confused him with the late actor David Doyle, although I never did.

 

People always mixed up Bosley and Doyle. I still don't see it.

 

Happy Days is one of those shows I watched religiously in childhood and now I recognize that all but the first season sucked.  The original idea was borrowed wholesale from the movie American Grafitti, including the staring actor Ron Howard.  They first shot Happy Days on film, with some pretty daring story lines for a prime time sitcom.  The second season they went to multi camera video, brought in a jovial studio audience, scrubbed a major character from everybody’s memory (lost brother Chuck), and flipped the Cunningham household set around so that the front door was on the right.  I guess a door on that side was much less controversial, but not any funnier.  The show was never the same again for ten irratating seasons.

However, Tom Bosley was a funny actor, and, I gather, a charitable person.  RIP.

link:  CBC News – Television – Happy Days actor Tom Bosley dies.

Barbara Billingsley,94 – RIP

Barbara Billingsley, best know for her role as June Cleaver on Leave it to Beaver, 1957-1963, is no longer coming down to breakfast.  The June Cleaver character is a frequently, sometimes inaccurately, used symbol in media criticism of the shiny, oblivious, chavanistic suburban life invented for television in 1950s.  June was a housewife who wore pearls while vacuuming, doted on her husband and boys, and never cracked the binding on the Feminine Mystique.   It’s true that in the Cleaver’s town of Mayfield there was no racism (or black people), no McCarthyism, and no desire in women for life beyond the foyer.  On the other hand, Leave It To Beaver was a great show because it was actually funny, often deliberately absurd, and never a depiction as bland and idealized as people make it out to be.  Also, I suspect that part of the reason the 1950’s are so elevated in the conservative imagination, is because perfect suburban neighborhoods, bridge clubs, and women officing in the kitchen, for good or ill,  is a lot the way it was, or at least the way a myopic post-war American culture wanted things to be.

link:  Barbara Billingsley of \’Leave it to Beaver\’ fame dies – CNN.com.

Icarus P. Anybody: RIP SRV

Remembering blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughn

Icarus P. Anybody: RIP SRV.

Eddie Fisher was 82 and "A true mensch."

Washington Post Obit: A Singer Best Remembered For Scandal

The great Eddie Fisher is no longer coming down for breakfast at 82.  The obits have a lot about his film roles and his celebrity marriages, but this guy had the best voice.

Here are two giant ones:

“Everybody’s Got A Home But Me”  [from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Pipe Dream]

“Heart”  [from Damn Yankees]

this video kind of sucks